


Parallels

by IShouldBeWriting



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Mythology
Genre: Gen, Thor isn't normally the insightful one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBeWriting/pseuds/IShouldBeWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor's not usually the insightful one on the Avengers team.  Which perhaps explains why Clint feels so poleaxed by their conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallels

“Has it never occurred to you, my brother, Hawk, how closely your Director Fury resembles the Alfodr, my father, Odin?”

Clint Barton’s head snapped sideways and he blinked twice, making him look more like an owl than the hawk for which he was named. Turning back to look over the helicarrier’s bridge, Clint threw one more sidelong glance at his shaggy blond giant of a companion before scrubbing one hand through his own short hair. _How the hell does Phil always manage to dodge this sort of conversation?_ he wondered with idle annoyance at his absent guide.

“Why don’t you run that by me one more time, Thor,” Clint drawled, letting the midwestern accent he normally kept in check sneak out around the edges of his speech. “And this time, try making it slow and elaborate, okay? I know I’m not exactly the best abstract thinker on the team so just assume that yours truly hasn’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

Turning penetrating blue eyes on his teammate, Thor shifted his body to rest, one beefy hand clasped with casual strength around the bridge railing.

“Of all the Æsir, Odin - my father - is chosen to lead. Like your Fury he has sacrificed one of his eyes at Mímir’s well to gain the wisdom of the ages. He knows the sorrows of Midgard and hath grudgingly agreed to allow my presence to safeguard the lives of mortal man against the likes of the frost giants of Jotunheim. Yourself and Agent Romanov are like his wolves, Geri and Freki. And this flying fortress combines nobly his throne at Hlidskjalf and his steed, Sleipnir. And when he commands us, your Director Fury throws his spear into battle as accurately as my father does Gungnir. And in his uniform and great coat he even dresses similarly to my father in his guise as Vegtam the Wanderer.”

Still wishing Phil were there to engage the Asgardian in the metacultural debate he so obviously craved, Clint turned his body to mirror that of the god beside him. 

“”Not that I understood half the words, but yes, I think I see your point,” he offered.

“And the raven - ” Thor mused as he looked out over the bridge again.

Much as he hated it, Clint was left blinking in confusion once again. He dry washed his hand across his face, desperately wishing for some of the good coffee from Bruce Banner’s lab.

“What do you mean about the raven?” Clint asked, hating the sensation that he was walking ever deeper into conversational quicksand.

“Have you not seen them, my brother?” Thor asked, his features contorted as he tried to discern whether Clint was playing a joke on him or not.

“Look, buddy, the only raven I’ve seen is Maria’s, and as far as I knew you and the rest of the normals weren’t supposed to be able to see spirit animals most of the time.”

Thor threw his head back and gave a ringing, hearty laugh of a proportion that made heads snap up to look at them curiously across the entire bridge. 

“After so many of your centuries spent around Huginn and Muninn, do you not think I can tell the difference? Did you think me such a fool as to have missed the fact that the Deputy Director has not one but _two_ birds? While I grant you that they are uncannily similar in appearance, I am amazed that thou would truly think they were but one and the same.”

Scowling and them both from his position near the con, the look in Nick Fury’s single remaining eye was all the warning Clint needed. Grabbing the Asgardian by the elbow, he tried to steer him off the bridge.

“Wait a minute, are you trying to tell me that not only can you _see_ Maria’s raven but that there are _two_ of them?” Clint dropped his voice to just above a whisper as they entered the echoing length of steel corridor.

“As surely as my father could not possibly do without his two corbies, Thought and Memory.”


End file.
